


Do you want to be a Superstar?

by mydarklord



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 01:38:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11521833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydarklord/pseuds/mydarklord
Summary: Manson is getting a bit too cocky for Trent's likings. It seems that someone needs a lesson.*This is my first fanfiction and english is not my first language so if you find grammar/wording mistakes please tell me*





	Do you want to be a Superstar?

Cheers and laughters were echoing through the living room where the Spooky Kids and NIN members were drinking and smoking all together after an intense recording session. Manson was jumping around, almost naked if not for the leathery underwear, long black socks and choker. He was in his usual full make up – painted eyebrows, messed up black lipstick, scars and writings all over his chest. Twiggy was the only one following his peculiar dress code, wearing a green and white shirt and a lot of make-up, though less messy than Manson's. The other guys were just in their normal, leathery heavy metal fashion, which looked completely sober when confronted with the other two goofers.

The wearisome and faltering recording of the Antichrist Superstar was finally coming to an end after months wasted on drugs, alcohol and videogames, artists' most treacherous enemies. Manson was feeling incredibly cheerful, boosted up by all the drinking and the cocaine, and was giving his hosts a rambling speech describing how insanely good this record was, how it would change everyone's lives and the world of music itself, how he'd get filthy rich and spend all his money on drugs, girls and charities (though he still had to make up his mind about the latter). The more he was slipping into his drunk self, the more his narcissistic ego was becoming clear to everyone.

“I'll tell you, this record is the SHIT. Like... it's really it. We're gonna make it big. I'm so good on this I'm almost shocked.”

He got himself another shot of some supposedly rare liquor - “ _tastes like shit anyway_ ” – and walked around the room until he was facing Trent.

“Like, this Reznor guy thinks he's good. Thinks - thinks he's better.” he taunted.

“Downward Spiral my ass, I'll suck the fame outta you mate. Deal with it.”

Pogo gave a loud laugh and Twiggy started to look interested.

“You want a piece of the cake? You'll have to _suck_ – _my_ – _cock_ ”, he kept sneering while pointing to his own crotch.The crowd cheered, even the NIN member seemed to find this drunk guy's show amusing.

Trent raised a judging eyebrow and chuckled nervously, uncertain whether to be pissed or entertained by that drunk kid. “I co-wrote Antichrist Superstar, you know.”

Manson laughed. “Co-wrote. You did what...? Added some drums and shit? Sat on your keyboard and smashed some buttons? You call that co-writing?”

Now, _definitely_ pissed off - thought Trent.

“My albums are still better, Brian. I get praised all the time for my innovating writing and style. Not like you edgy tryhard.”

The crowd now was quieter, some of them starting to find some interest in the floor's tiles or the window drapes. The only excited one was Twiggy, rocking back and forth on the couch, probably wishing for this to end up in a drunken fist fight.

“Yeah Mr. Reznor, please keep using your _innovative_ drums and keyboard to make us participate to your whining and your sorry-ass life. Please sing again about how much of a nihilist you are. I didn't get it from the first 50 fucking songs.” Manson mocked him. Twiggy laughed, repeating to himself the world “nihilist” as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

Marilyn then faced the crowd and kept going, regardless of Trent's darkening expression.

“C'mon now guys, whoever can tell me who's the nihilist here, gets a free line!”

Twiggy immediately raised up his arm, giggling: “It's Trent isn't it? It's Mr. Reznor right? Do I get the coke? Do I?”

Manson threw Twiggy the bag of coke, “Congratulation sir, youuuu win!” said adding an exaggerated mocking bow.

Trent was beyond furious. He got up without a word, threw Manson out of the way and exit the room. Everyone laughed at his reaction.

“Drama queen” sneered Manson.

 

 

**3 weeks later**

 

Everything was almost done. The tracks were completed and recorded, they just had to make Trent sign some papers – the “serious business papers”, like Twiggy liked to call them - to start producing the actual CDs. A quick, rapid signature and everyone's dreams would come true. Easy, right?

Manson entered what was supposed to be Reznor's office – a gloomy, small room with a desk and some chairs - this time completely sober, holding the sacred papers Trent had to sign. As he imagined, his producer was sitting behind the desk, bored and fiddling with some pencils.

“Look at this bad boy. Sign this and we'll get famous. This is the last signature you'll have to put, I'll take care of the autographs from now on”.

Trent stared at him, blank. Few awkward moments of silence passed, and Manson tentatively urged him to answer.

“So...? You're not gonna sign this?”

“Why would I?” replied Trent dryly.

Manson's jaw almost dropped.

“Why would you sign it? _Why_? Are you high? We've worked on this for months, and now you're asking why you should sign it?”

Trent sneered back: “Let me remake the question. Why would I give _you_ fame? I made you this and you disrespect my work.” 

"Are you talking about that night? I was drunk and high as fuck dude, I was just joking, chill.”

“You made fun of me, my problems and my work in front of everyone. You disrespected me.”

“Yeah, well. Sort of. You've gotta admit you're a whiny bitch sometimes. Like right now.” replied Manson.

“I'm not the one who cried while singing Minute of Decay”.

Manson snorted, “Just sign this. Let's get over it”. “

No.” calmly replied Trent.

“What? You really tryin’ to start a fight?”

“I don't think you understand” replied Trent, putting the pencils he was fiddling with aside and looking up to Manson,

“I am the producer. I decide. If I think the product is worth it, I'll publish it. If I think the singer is worth it, I'll publish it.”

“Are you saying I'm not worth it?”

Trent stared at him, smirking. “Exactly”.

Manson started feeling that maybe he was being serious. He was definitely pissed off at him, but to what extent? He could feel some anxiety rising up. He did play a bit cocky lately, but he was so focused on the success...

“You can't be serious. We all worked hard on this. You worked hard on this. Everyone!”

“Dunno, I just added some drums and shit.” mocked him Trent.

“Oh _c'mon_ , I was just joking. How can you be this bitchy?”

“So, now I'm a useless nihilist failed musician and bitchy. Keep going Brian, you're definitely getting in my good grace”.

Manson started walking back and forth, hand passing through his hair. Trent must be joking. There was no way the album was not getting published for just a fucking signature.

He pulled his full innocent, puppy eyes face and lowered his voice dramatically. “I'm sorry. I didn't really mean to offend you. I was just joking. Of course you were a big part of this product-” Trent cut him off by throwing him a pencil.

“Piss off, bitch.”

As he got up and went his way to exit the room, Manson ran after him, trying to stop him. He took him for his shoulder.

“C'mon don't be like this. I understand you're angry, but you can't waste everyone's work for this.”

“Of course I can”. He took the papers Manson was holding, crumpled them and threw them off the floor.

“If you bite the hand that feeds you, the hand is gonna be pissed.”

He left the room, leaving Manson alone and shocked. He started sweating really hard.Was Trent serious? He couldn't be. No way. His bandmates were waiting for him to come with the signed papers. What could he tell them? “Hey, I might have behaved like a little bitch and pissed off our producer so now he's kicking us off. No hate right?”

He felt so fucking stupid.

 

….

 

Almost one hour had passed, but he couldn't exit the room. His phone was constantly vibrating for his bandmates' calls, but he couldn't bring himself to answer. He was nervously walking up and down the room, tracing imaginary circles. He needed a way out.

He was lost in thought when the door creaked open. It was that bastard again.

“You still here?” Trent asked, half surprised and half amused. Since he didn't get any answer, he walked past Manson and sat behind the desk, placing a tape recorder on it.

“You know, I just got to listen to some new underground band's demos. Pretty sick. I'm thinking about signin them up.”

Manson couldn't even bring himself to look at Trent. Just watching his stupid grinning face was enough to make him sick to his stomach. He swallowed a “fuck you” and remained silent.

“And you know what the best thing is? The singer fucking _adores_ me. He's even got a huge poster with my face on it. Ain't that love”.

He kicked off the shoes and started blasting those demos - “ _awful stuff_ ” thought Manson.

“What do you think? I mean, it could take some work and remodelling, but I've got plenty of time ahead.”

“That's shit and you know it. It's nothing like anything I wrote.”

“ _You_ wrote.”

“We wrote.” Manson corrected himself.

“You still don't get it, do you?” spat Trent scornfully.

Marilyn was starting to shake, anger and tiredness and frustration pushing all together him. Reznor lowered the volume of the demo, focusing entirely on the man he had before him.

“So, how did the others take the news?” Manson didn't utter a word, finding a sudden interest in his own feet. “You told them... right?” Again, awkward silence.

“Don't have the balls to tell them you fucked up everything? That you have their dreams torn out of their hands because of your cockiness?”

“Trent... please”, muttered Manson. “You can't do this. I can't tell them.”

“You fucked it up”.

“I KNOW” shouted Manson. “I know.” He looked lost and angry, his usual pale face flushed and chest pumping up and down, fists clenched. He gazed at the papers still on the floor, at his dreams vanishing. Trent stared at him, curious of where his emotions would take him.

He wanted to hurt him. Wanted to take that tape and make him eat it. Take a knife and carve his eyes out. Kill him, put him in a ditch, set the ditch on fire and piss on it. Then bring him back to life to rinse and repeat. But he couldn't do it. That bastard had his future on his dirty fucking hands.

He swallowed his anger and pride, and tried to speak as carefully as he could.

“What can I do to make you change your mind? “ He paused, uncertain.

"What can I do to make this _right_?”

He was talking to the floor, as he couldn't sustain Trent's look.

He heard steps approaching him, and a hand lifting his chin up. He met those eyes.

“I want you to respect me.” growled Trent.

It sounded like a threat and sent chills down Manson's spine, who lost his breath a little. “

You humiliated me in front of all those people. Pay me respect or get the fuck out of here”.

Manson nodded. “Ok... I'll be more respectful then.”

He finally managed to look at Trent, but before he could stop himself-

“Will this make you sign the papers?” -

_“did you really just asked this you fucking idiot_ ” he cursed himself, facepalming.

Trent sneered. “You really never learn.”

Marilyn scoffed “Hey, I said I'll be more respectful. What else can I say?”

Trent shook his head, went back to take the papers off the floor, fixing them as much as he could. He put them on the desk and took the pen on his hand. Manson approached the desk hastily, looking at him expectantly.

“You really want me to sign this, don't you?”

“Yes.” he replied almost instantly.

Trent sat behind the desk, took the pen and got closer to the blank space where he had to sign. He stopped and stared at Manson for some seconds.

Then put the pen down.

“Get away from the desk. Not too close, not too far. Just enough for me to see you entirely.”

Dumbfounded, Manson looked back at him, baffled at that weird request. “Wh-why do you want me to…?”

When he got no explanation, he just shrugged and decided to just comply.

“Good. Now take off your clothes.”

He almost choked. “What?”

“You asked how to make this right, I'm just showing you. Take your clothes off.”

He knew he had probably a funny expression, but couldn't close his mouth nor shut his eyes. The shock was too heavy. He looked at Trent again, to see if he really was serious. He was.

Awkwardly, he started to take his shirt off. He threw it on the floor, then he automatically crossed his arms on his chest, as if he wanted to protect himself. Not a single sound was coming from that room, now the demo completely stopped. But he could swear Trent's stare had the loudest sound of all. He decided to move on by taking his shoes and socks off, then his trousers. He was left in his underwear, which he held tight, not wanting to take it off.

“I'm waiting.”

Manson looked down at his feet, feeling his face reddening.

“Why” he breathed out.

“Do it”. He closed his eyes and took the underwear off. He heard a chuckle, which made him feel even worse.

“C'mon, you're always so cocky. Can't even look at me now?” sneered Trent.

Marilyn sucked his breath and looked at him. That damn bastard was smirking like crazy. He wanted to punch the hell out of him. They started at each other for good thirty seconds, when Manson finally spat “Now what?”

“Jerk off.”

“What?” Manson almost shouted. “You can't be serious”.

He felt a rush of panic hitting him like a rock. He understood Trent's plan now. He wanted to humiliate him more than he did. And he definitely was managing to do it.

He drag his hand to his unerected dick, touching it almost as if he was scared. He felt his face burning up. Now he was totally aware of being completely naked, with a window open through which came chilling air, in front of his bastard grinning producer.

He started touching himself, trembling. He couldn't get hard, which made everything even more humiliating. Breathing out heavily and shutting his eyes, he started masturbating more firmly.

Sweat was dripping down his leg as he kept jerking off like he would do alone. He felt like time was never passing, it was probably minutes since he started but still couldn’t feel the orgasm reaching.

“You surely do look funny right now” taunted him Trent.

_“I'm gonna punch your face, kill your ass and throw your body down a lake”_ Manson thought, but he didn't say anything.

“Come over the desk. Sit on it, on your knees, legs spread open.”

He wanted to put up a fight at the request but he found his mind slowly getting hazed due to the pleasure, so he ended up complying. He stopped touching himself and started his walk of shame until he was right in front of the desk, helping himself with the hands to get up on it. He was so close to Trent he could smell his leathery stench. He knelt on the desk as he was commanded to, covering his dick with the hands because he was too embarrassed to show it. It didn't make any sense, considering he was masturbating in front of him just moments ago, but he felt incredibly exposed.

“Happy?” said in the end, trying to sound defying.

Trent grinned. “Very. You should stay on your knees more often.”

Manson blushed and avoided the eye contact. “What, now”, he murmured, even if he didn't really want to know the answer.

“Look at me and keep jerking off.”

Manson bit his lips. That bastard. He swallowed the embarrassment and stared directly in his eyes. He started moving his hand again, up and down.

It would've been a funny staring contest, if not for the difficult Manson had to keep his face straight. He could feel himself blushing even more every time a gasp or a moan escaped his throat, despite biting his lips. Every time he closed his eyes, Trent made sure to repeat “look at me”.

As the orgasm grew closer, Manson's vision of Trent got blurred but he still could see his own reflection on his eyes, his reddened face, moaning open mouth. Trent came closer to his face, taking his jaw in his hands.

“This is what you're going to do if you want me to publish that albums of yours. I'll make you understand what respect and power is.”

Manson swallowed and nodded, the words sort of flowing in his mind as the orgasm was approaching. Trent put his fingers in front of Manson's mouth. “Suck.”

Once again he complied, sucking on one finger as he kept masturbating. Another finger was added, playing with his tongueand his lips, smearing his lipstick all over his face. If he hadn't been too busy being pleasuring himself, he would've probably notice that Mr. Bastard was using his lipstick to write a small “nin” signature.

“Pull out your tongue. Be the bitch you naturally are.”

Manson felt incredibly humiliated and exposed, his tongue sticking out making him have a rather desperate expression.. Trent laughed, which made him feel even worse.

“Look at you, now that's what I call obscene.”

He could feel his eyes watering in humiliation. Trent returned to sliding fingers inside, now with four almost choking him. He felt the orgasm reaching closer and closer.His eyes were slowly closing.

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” Trent laughed at Manson's expression. He was getting cute so flustered and hot, all smeared up. He began pumping faster and faster, fingers choking him. He was not so sure if he really wanted to cum, to add humiliation to his state. But he felt the old familiar burning sensation and he couldn’t resist anymore.

“I'm gonna cum” he breathed out. Shaking and moaning, he spilled on the desk – and the papers. As his muscles gave in, he shut his eyes and mind. He didn't want to think about what had just happened. He wanted to open his eyes and find himself in his own bed, finding out it was just a dream. But it wasn't.

He wasn't given that much rest, as Trent took the cum covered papers and shook them in front of him.

“Look at what you did, how am I supposed to sign this? I'm afraid you'll have to explain the others that you need to reprint them.”

Manson sighed in exasperation. Still out of breath, he tried to regain a little bit of dignity by closing his legs and trying to cover himself with his hands.

“If I'll do it, will you sign it this time and put an end to this?”

Trent shooked his head, laughing. “Put an end? I haven't even started.”


End file.
